Misfit
by Filamental
Summary: Max is made to attend a new school - Avon Institute, an elite school and in her eyes, a snob school. She is determined to hate it there, and exist as a loner... but can she, with a group of /very/ special students studying there? Eventual FAX. All human.
1. Chapter 1 : A New  Beginning?

I glared at the backpack mom had put just before the door of my bedroom, open just enough to show my battered pencilcase sitting on top of a new notepad and a few spiral ring notebooks. Mom knew, as did I, that without that very obvious reminder of what day today was, I would have just said I had forgotten and gone back to sleep, ruining her plans for today. Rolling my eyes, I pulled on a loose pair of dark blue jeans, and my favourite charcoal grey hoodie which had MAX boldly emblazoned on the chest, and a pair of wings picked out in reflective silver thread behind. No way was I going to dress up for the prigs my new schoolmates were bound to me. I sighed for the fifth time this morning, grabbed my backpack, and loudly made my way down to the kitchen.

"_This is the start! Of Something New! It feels so Right! To be Here with You!"_ sang/yelled a high, sweet voice. "Good morning, Maaaaax!"

"Ugh, El. Little Miss I-have-obviously-taken-too-much-sugar-this-morning-and-am-now-high,-BEWARE much?" I sniped, tugging on my sister's hair affectionately. Ella's hands immediately dropped her bowl of low-fat high-grain cereal, and flew to her mocha-coloured locks, swept into a complicated bun at the nape of her creamy-white neck. Her eyes narrowed at me, and her mouth opened, but before she could launch into a speech on Twenty Reasons Not To Mess With The Hair Of The Fashion Conscious, my elder and only brother took pity on me and intervened.

"You'd better hurry up, Ellie, you're going to be late! And we don't want to be late on the first day at Avon, do we?", said Jon, in a bright tone. I glanced at him briefly, and he quirked his lips at me, then nodded at Ella, who had frozen for a second, then gone into a frenzy of activity, attempting to gobble down her cornflakes and touch up her makeup all at once, but only succeeding in smearing milk on her cheek.

I turned to Jon and feigned surprise. "Wow, really? From the way you've been acting for the past few years, I thought 'the later, the better' was the school motto. Not really? Sorry, your bad."

But instead of mock-glaring at me and commencing the heated verbal battle that we always had every morning (and which I really, _really_ needed this morning), he just shook his head pityingly at me, and passed me a plate heaped full of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon just hot from the frying pan. I stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Wha-"

"To celebrate your first day as an Avon scholar, duh! Now dig in, a growing girl needs her food," interrupted Jon. I sat on the urge to jibe at his mother-hen tendencies, and settled for mumbling, "and my last day as a Blackwellian." He paused for a moment, and looked at me concernedly in the eye. I nodded at him in reassurance. I was going to be okay. Probably. After a while of studious shoveling-in of food, Jon stood up and started clearing away the plates, snatching mine away from under my nose with a wicked grin.

"At this rate, we are _really _going to be late, my dear sisters. And as much as I'd love to maintain my bad-boy reputation that the ladies all love, I have my sisters' reputation to protect," he announced, paused, then added, "I mean, I have _Ella's_ reputation to protect. I shall have nothing to do with Max's reputation."

I rolled my eyes and punched him in the chest, hard. As usual, he didn't falter an inch. I mentally raised my eyebrows with approval. He'd gotten more fit lately. I wonder…

My speculations were rudely interrupted with Jon pushing Ella and I out of the door, and into his dark red convertible.

"Mom's not here, so I'm fetching you guys to school," he said, then added, cackling like a villain in vaudeville, "AND I get to introduce you to your new Principal."

* * *

I folded my arms, slightly disgusted. With whom or what, I did not know. It could be the officious creakiness of the plush purple chair I was now seated in. It would be the royal-blue, immaculately vacuumed carpeted floor. It could be the walk-into-able transparency of the perfectly clear glass doors. Or it could just be the fact that the chair was not a splintering wooden bench, the floor was not coated in cracking, fading linoleum, and this place just simply oozed elitism, snobbery, and money, so unlike the simple hominess of Blackwell. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to storm out of this room and this blasted, velvety, carpeted, luxurious,_ rich _place, and back into Blackwell, where Sabine, B. , and Chelsea were. Who cared that it was more convenient for Ella, Jon, and I to all go to the same school? Convenience be damned, I would lose my _sanity_ here. I could not stand snobbery, could not stand stuck-up people, could not stand vulgar shows of wealth, and thus most definitely could not _stand_ how I would be associated with all these.

Ella, in her silky turquoise crop-top and flouncy mid-thigh deep brown skirt which brought out the blue in her eyes and mocha of her hair perfectly, would fit in here perfectly. Not because she was a snob, but because she was so easy-going, so friendly, so interested in everybody. She could easily crack the polished exteriors of all these hard, porcelain rich people. People could not help but open up to her bright nature, and show their best side when around her.

Jon, in his leather jackets over dress shirts, Mr-Quirky-Slash-Nonexistent-Fashion-Sense, and so different from Ella, ironically also did fine here, in Avon, school by the elite for the elite. While Ella was gregarious and extroverted, Jon tended to keep to himself, and seemed intimidating to most people. Yet, he had this dark aura, a sort of charisma, which both intimidated and intrigued, as well as a wicked sense of humour. People would be drawn to him like moths to a light, and he would treat most with a sort of removed, aloof friendliness, but the way he treated those he accepted made it impossible to not-want to be part of his inner circle. Even the most snobbish came to him, but he would only truly befriend the "cool kidz", as he deemed them. In any case, he was always surrounded by people, and had a group of friends he liked and trusted.

But me? I would just as soon punch the lights out of people than befriend them. The moment anyone annoyed me, even the littlest of things, I would make my opinions of them clear – and this would normally be done with my fists. I would not allow them to show their better sides or their real personalities (if any) before I would make them my enemies.

I sighed. This was hopeless. I was supposed to wait for someone to "escort" me to my first class. Ella already had "Monique", a pretty, extremely friendly, African-American in a stylish purple halter-neck summer dress bring her to her first AP Biology class. Even though Ella was a year younger than I, she was incredibly intelligent and hardworking, and took many classes with me. She already seemed to have made fast friends with Monique, she would be fine here. She didn't need me. Making one my infamous split decisions, I lept to my feet, grabbed my backpack, and dashed out of the room, fully intending to catch the next bus to Blackwell –

- only to crash into a black-clad chest. Which was buff, and extremely well-muscled, comparable to that of Jon's. In fact, it's lean definition rather made Jon's look rather too-muscled and...

Not that I was comparing, of course! I hurriedly looked up angrily, ready to throw my first punch in this blasted school which unfortunately seemed to be well-stocked with fit, muscled, hot guys with 8-packs… only to look into a pair of equally angry, unfathomably deep and mysterious obsidian eyes.

* * *

**A/N **: _This is admittedly my first fic, EVER, so I need a lot of feedback so I can improve, make my stories more interesting. Plot ideas would be very much welcomed too! (: Thanks guys. :3_


	2. Chapter 2: Oreo Eyes

Oreo. That's the first word that popped into my mind when I saw his eyes, with all the accompanying connotations – delicious, yes, certainly. Pitch black, but tempered with some sweet goodness. As El would say, sinfully good. But wait, why were they glazing over like a oreo just dunked into milk – ah, right, he was angry.

Wait.

ANGRY? What right had he to be angry? He was the one who had collided into me! I resisted the urge to start humming "Neutron Star Collision", and instead turned my gaze into a glare. I'm sure I was red, but hopefully he would think it was an angry flush instead of a blush for being caught staring into his eyes. To my disappointment, he didn't flinch. And trust me, many have flinched under what Sab called the "Max Stare Of Doom". Maybe it was one of those "I don't care what the shit you think about me, I'm a rich kid and my daddy has six billion cars and buys me as many cute shoes as I want" things. I mentally shrugged in distaste. Snob.

"Maximum Ride. Follow me," the oreo eyed dark boy (yes, I had given him a name. But this did not mean I liked him!) stated emotionlessly, quiet but somehow commanding, and turned around, stalking back down the corridor without looking at me. Instinctively, I quickly followed him, before my mind could register what my legs were doing. Seething, I glared at him even more venomously. He was clad in all black – a plain black shirt which somehow managed to look designer, a pair of well-fitting but not skinny black jeans, and an all black, expensive-looking watch. His skin was a well-tanned olive tone, and he was annoyingly well-muscled. Ugh. Not only a snob, but also the "too-cool-for-you" strong, dark and silent type. Definitely a ladies' man, I thought, with those muscles, strong features, and endless dark eyes, even with the obvious lack of manners. I felt my lip involuntarily curl in disgust. No doubt he expected me to fall at his feet and throw myself at him, like probably every other teenage girl he met. Not likely. I had to show him who was the boss-lady around here before he got the wrong idea, as male-chauvinist, sexist pigs tended to do so outstandingly. I ran out in front of him, and faced him, hands on hips, and eyes flashing dangerously.

"What is wrong with you, ore- I mean, seriously, what's your frickin' problem?" I counted off my fingers in his face. "You don't even greet me or tell me your name. Fine, I don't expect anyone in this snob school to welcome me into this school with open arms, but I did expect at least _basic courtesy_. Surely rich kids know as much etiquette as that! Next, you order me to follow you, and then just walk away, knowing, no, _expecting _that I would tag along obediently like a _blind puppy_. You are not my master, and I am certainly _not_ one of your lovesick puppy-girls. Just please stop deluding yourself, pretending that you own the world, just because you are rich. A little manners and respect would be nice, you kn-"

Not even bothering to look at me, oreo eyes, who had at first stopped and eyes me contemptuously, roughly brushed past my shoulder and continued down the corridor. What. The. Freak. Who the _bird-freak _did he think he was! I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, before deeming it useless. I was going to _kill _that arrogant, snobbish, I'm-king-of-the-world dude. I was going to _rip apart_ his designer clothes and make him _weep_. I was going to smash some damn _emotion_ into his _face_. Running after him, fists clenched, I prepared to make war… only to find myself facing an open mahogany (_mahogany_? What kind of school door was made out of mahogany, for goodness' sakes) door, with several curious faces peeking out.

"Ah, Maxim- oh, I'm sorry, I mean, you must be _Maxine_ Ride. This namelist seems to have a typo," said a man dressed in black pants and a white office shirt paired with a vest of a most amazingly, obnoxiously loud turquoise, which only emphasized his slight hunch. He shook the namelist accusingly, and melodramatically put on an expression of mock horror. "Oh, the tragedy! You must forgive the namelist, it is prone to making such horrendous mistakes. I assure you it will never happen again. In any case, I'm Mr. Alvin Thompson, and I will be your History teacher for, well, as long as you are in this school."

Mr. Thompson held out a hand with a warm grin. I nearly shook that hand, but then remembered I was supposed to be angry. Glaring at the hand fiercely until he dropped it, I said quietly but forcefully, "It's _Maximum_, not Maxine, Mr _Thomas_." Satisfied with the snide max-ness of my haughty response, I swept to the only available seat in the classroom. Quickly taking out my notebook and pencilcase, I tried not to grin at the hilariously stupefied expression on Mr Thompson's face. My good humour immediately returned as the expression on his face morphed into one of scandalized outrage.

"Now as I was saying before our darling Miss Maxin-imum Ride so rudely interrupted our lesson, my long departed friend George Washington of the fabled apple tree was born in…"

I laughed outright. Max-_cinammon_? Maybe Avon wouldn't be so bad, if the teachers were like this. Maybe the students wouldn't all be as bad as that dark boy, maybe he was just the exception. I turned to my deskmate, ready to make my first friend in Avon…

And I found a pair of oreo eyes glaring right back at me.

Oh please shoot me now.

* * *

**A/N: **_As per request, Max doesn't really like Fang for the moment. Which pains me to write, but yes, it's definitely more fun this way – if I can pull it off! D: Yup and fear not, I will definitely NEVER decide to change the ultimate goal of FAXness. (: heh. _

_Is the chapter too short, by the way? Keep the reviews coming, I got some really great ideas from you guys, and the encouragement was definitely heartening! :D Yep, this is really my first fic, but I'm honoured that it doesn't seem like it. (something wrong with that phrasing, but pshhh. x) )  
_

_Again, please point out any errors/mistakes/plot-gaps/ or anything else you didn't like about what I've written so far. ALL feedback is welcome! Thank you. :3_


	3. Chapter 3: Iggy 'James' Griffiths

**A/N: Hey guys, I'm really really sorry for not updating for so long – I hate it when others do it, so it's really hypocritical of me to do it too. ): I've been busy, but it's not really an excuse. Sorry, this is definitely not how I wanted my first fan fic to turn out. **

**Anyway I've heeded feedback and made my chapters longer. Hope you like this new chapter – not much FAX, not yet. According to the suggestions of reviewers, the relationship is going to be antagonistic for a few chapters more. Hate to put the story through this, but that one particular reader was right – I believe it will make their relationship even sweeter later on! So please, please bear with me now. And thanks for all the encouragement you guys have given so far! As always, **_**all**_** feedback is welcome, positive or negative. (: But please make it about improving my story, and not about posting earlier. x)**

The rest of the admittedly very interesting History lesson passed like this: Oreo dude and I ignoring each other. Okay well maybe not so much that as he acting as far as possible that I did not exist, and me casting reluctant but curious glances _very_ occasionally at him. _Very_ occasionally. I mean, it was not as if I was intrigued by him or anything, I was just still angry at him. It's very normal to be curious about someone who just totally brushed you off and resultingly pissed you off, sexist, snobbish pig-male with obviously no happy exposure to cute shoes or not.

And _dang_, was he infuriating. His face was just so – so still it was like he was frickin' carved out of marble, like those greek statue thingys. And no, I was not referring to the perfect features. (Mainly, anyway.) His eye blinking rate must have been way below normal, and he not so much as twitched visibly throughout the entire lesson! After the first glare, he didn't look at me, not once – not that I was upset by that. I was _Maximum Ride, _and I was going to _break _that dude.

Thinking similarly murderous (but non-upset!) thoughts, I stormed to my next class. Glaring at the classroom in general, my name suddenly popped out at me. In one of the middle row desks to the right, _Maximum Ride_ (thankfully spelt correctly) was embossed in a flawless gold cursive deep into the dark, silky wood. Looking around the class again, I noticed similarly marked desks.

Holy cow with hot pink polka dots and cute shoes on its ears – I knew this place was rich kid snobbish-posh, but not _this_ rich kid snobbish-posh! Tracing over my name in a kind of dazed outrage, I realized that they must have made 9 new desks personally for each student. And I swear, was that frickin' _gold leaf_? Ugh, no wonder that stupid, infuriating but _not filling my mind _oreo guy was such a self centered, zero people skills _prick_! He must have been cosseted from young into believing that he was the king of the universe and above all the rest of us common human beings. I snorted loudly, attracting scornful looks from a group of admittedly pretty but amazingly artificial, doll-resembling girls nearby. Rolling my eyes, I prayed that my deskmate in this class, an "_Iggy James Griffiths_" was not a snob like the rest. But judging from the _name _alone – I mean, come _on_, Iggy? Was that a guy or a girl? And wait – double surname? No doubt some aristocratic lineage-tracing rubbish tradition. I needed chocolate chip cookies, and stat. I could feel a headache coming on, and that always resulted in many people with the happy privilege of Max-broken bones. Sab always called it my "Max-Rage Rampage". Sighing, I slumped down onto my desk, and cradled my throbbing head.

"'Sup, new girl," said a voice which was sadly, distinctly male. So, "Iggy" the male. Shoot. Stealing a glance at him – damn, sniper-rifle super shoot with melted-chocolate-chip cookies on top (hungry girl here, okay.). This "Iggy" guy was pretty cute – an almost definite sign of male sexist piggism, especially coupled with the floppy strawberry-blond hair and rather beautiful ice-blue eyes.

"Love the hoodie – the wings are cool, though it covers a little too much," he continued.

GAH THAT LITTLE – DID HE JUST…? Damn school with ridiculous male-chauvinist snobs! I could feel my eyes flashing dangerously at him.

"Love the pretty girl hair – the length is cool to grab with when I punch you, though that nose might be kinda hard on my fists – ah well," I replied, with the most sinister smile I could manage.

To my disappointment, instead of looking scared, Iggy just burst into laughter.

"Oh boy, I already like you. Hey, look in your desk for a little welcome gift from me," he said, winking flirtatiously.

Oh that stupid fool. I was _so_ going to shove that rose or whatever into his face, complete with thorns. Scratches on that face might turn out to complement his finely defined nose, after all. Grinning maliciously, I grabbed under the desk for the item, thoroughly intending to smash his nose with it, when-

PFFT. I was suddenly, completely unwillingly engulfed in a noxious mini mushroom cloud of green-yellow gas. Which, I might add, stank to high heaven. My senses temporarily in overload, I stumbled around blindly for a bit, trying to grope-slash-punch around for that _stupid_, bomb _releasing, sexist-pig _dude. Oh _gross_, I was going to smell _putrid_ for the rest of the darn day, and when my vision cleared a bit, I saw that people were staring at me like I just released a big, fat, yellow-green, _y'know_. Great. So I'd just made the enviable evolution from "New Girl" to "Fart Girl". Bah, "Iggy" was going to _pay_ for this. I vaulted over my desk, fully intending to kick Iggy in – well, let's just say that doubled over with laughter as he already was, he was going to double over even more in _extreme, devastating pain_ wherever my foot made contact.

"Maximum Ride!" yelled a commanding, deep voice. Instinctively, I backed down behind my desk. _Damn, I backed down_. This school must be poshing up and squishing down of my spine faster than I had originally thought. I faced the painfully upright, overwhelmingly large figure in front of the class, defiance in my eyes, ready to slap down whatever reprimand he was going to throw at me with one of my trademark snarky comebacks.

"Welcome to Avon!" the teacher's next statement took me completely with surprise. What was _with _these people? I sighed, and was going to let my foot finish what it was so rudely interrupted in doing, but a steely glint in his eyes stopped me from doing so.

"I am Mr Lawrence, and I will be taking all of you for chemistry. James, please return to your seat," he paused as James slowly complied, then continued, "The topic we will be starting on today are Acids, Bases, and Salts. Now, can anyone give me an example of a common acid used in laboratory work?"

"Iggy!" Iggy said, very loudly, and very determinedly.

"Excuse me?" Mr Lawrence raised one eyebrow at Iggy. And boy, can his eyebrow go up far. Undaunted, Iggy continued, "My name's not James. It's Iggy. _Iggy_." I grinned a little at that. I was growing to like this Iggy dude. Stink bombs and stuffy name rejection trumped sexist piggism in my book. Especially the stink bomb part. I have always held bomb creators in the highest esteem, ever since an errant stink bomb postponed a 10% of total grade math quiz I had not studied for. And hell, even my brother could be a bit of a sexist boar sometimes.

"_James._ Iggy, Iggidium, or Iggigen, however way you put it, is not even an element, much less a laboratory acid. And I don't suppose you were referring to Iridium?" Mr Lawrence caustically shot back, then resumed his pacing, but before he could say another word, Iggy defiantly stood up, jutted out his chin stubbornly and announced,

"With all due respect, Mr Lawrence, I will be called Iggy. James is not my name. It is simply a name someone gave me. It is a name – it is a name used to control my life." then he continued, more softly, " Iridium is an element with the atom number 77, and has an atomic mass of around 192.22 times the weight of a twelfth of a mole of carbon isotope twelve. A simple example of a laboratory acid would be sulphuric acid, chemical formula H2SO4, and other than for creating salts and titration, sulphuric acid is pretty darn useful in creating stink bombs."

Iggy shot me a lopsided grin, then sat, confidently. Only I could see the slight tremble in his hands, and the slightly sad droop to his eyes. After a long, dumbfounded silence, Mr Lawrence finally spoke.

"Mr Griffiths is absolutely correct on all counts. Not just did he answer the question perfectly and demonstrated superior understanding of the periodic table, he also brought up a few pertinent points that we are going to discuss today." Pausing for a moment, he added, looking at Iggy with a slight quirk to his mouth, "Excellent job… Iggy."

Iggy stared at Mr Lawrence for a while in disbelief, then a broad grin broke across his face.

"_Heck _yeah! Gimme a five, Ride!"

I stared uncertainly at his proffered hand for a while, then hi-fived Iggy, and quickly said before I could regret it,

"Iggy, my friends call me Max."

Iggy's smile widened almost impossibly, and repeated,

"Gimme a five, Max!"


	4. Chapter 4: Meeting the Flock

**A/N: I'm back! :D But I suppose you guys are not very happy to see me. ): Justified, I suppose. I haven't updated for months grarggh. I'd love to blame schoolwork again but the main problem is that I procrastinate waaaaay to much. For followers, you guys have probably already forgotten what this story is about. Stinks, right? Hate it when that happens so it's just asdfghjkl to see it happen to mine because of my laziness. **

**I'm actually contemplating deleting this story and THEN posting when I've actually written at least 20 chapters (might take a while) so that at least you guys will get frequent updates and not lose track of what happened. The story's for you guys to read, so what say you? It's an option I'm heavily considering.**

"Maximum Ride!" Iggy stood outside the door of my English class as I walked out for break, unreasonably chirpy for someone just gone through French.

"Hey Iggs," I grinned at my new-found friend. Within the short hour of Chemistry lesson, Iggy and I had many fruitful discussions about practical jokes. Already I was planning my next move on Jon in our practical joke war.

"C'mon, let's go for lunch. You gotta sit with me, and you're gonna love my friends. They're fuh-reakin _awesome!_"

Internally releasing a sigh of relief – I'd thought "New Fart Girl" was going to have to sit alone for lunch today - I deadpanned, "Fuh-reakin awesome, huh? What makes you think I'd want to sit with _your _friends, Iggs? If they're anything like you, heck, if they even _like_ you, I don't think I want to meet them."

Yeah, I know, 'New Fart' sounds weird. I mean, can you even be an Old Fart? Wait, you _can_ be an Old Fart! Anyway, 'Fart New' sounds like a commercial! "The All-Awesome, Squeaky Fart-New Girl going for only $9.99 at your local Fart-Mart. That's right, folks, only $9.99!" So there! New Fart over Fart New, anytime! Wait, maybe I should stop arguing with myself in the middle of the hallway – but it's fun – but you look like a stoner kid – but

"OWWWW! Iggy, you little… little… fart, you! What was that punch for? Wanna eat knuckle sandwich for lunch, is that it?"

Iggy had the gall to punch me again.

"You looked like you were deep in thought, Max. I thought I'd better wake you up before you overtax your microscopic brain cells." Dodging my smack, he continued, smirking, "Anyway, I think you'd fit right in with my friends. They're a bit lacking up there. They blame me and my chemical bombs for that, but don't listen to a word they say. Baby, they were born that way!"

I had to admit - Iggy's friends _were _cool. Given, Iggy's adoptive sister, Monique (purple halter-neck sundress girl, not that I was noticing _fashion_, I'm not a _girly_-girl, you know?), was a babbler. Oh _hell _was she a babbler – if I had to be friends with her, I'd have to buy a pair of earplugs soon, she'd talk me to my death otherwise. But "Nudge" was also kind and friendly, and seemed pretty cheez-itastically (yeah, I'm hungry all the time, deal with it!) accepting of a girl all set to ruin her social status just by merit of association (cue yell: MAXIMUM RIDE!). Already she had taken Ella under her wing, and judging by the animated conversation they were having about different shades of eyeshadow and what facial features they brought out, they were soon to be fast friends.

"Ohmygoodnessgracious grapefruit flavoured lip gloss, Gazzy, like eew to the max! That smelt like rotten egg sandwiches times, like, a zillion, you know last week they served us egg sandwiches but you know how that waitress in the school canteen hates me and stuff cause she loves Lissa and I'm prettier than Lissa right? Right guys? Right so anyway she served me egg sandwiches without the crusts cut off and you know how much I love bread crusts except when they're all uncrispy and uncrusty and anyway I swear the eggs were rotten, they were all green yellow and stuff like baby's poop which are totally like your mushroom clouds Gazzy but I except actually like mushrooms oh goose you made me hate mushrooms and oh gosh I can't stand thinking about it anymore ahhh Ellaaaaa, protect me from Gazzy's evil cloud!"

Nudge collapsed dramatically onto Ella's shoulder, which was shaking helplessly with laughter at our newfound friends' antics. This of course sparked off another rant because "Ella I smudged my blusher and I didn't bring my mirror today come with me to the toilet pleaaase, I _have_ to re-do my makeup I look terrible and you know they have this really gorgeous floor length mirror which of course I suspect is a skinny mirror but I love it and anyway I need to borrow that brilliant shade of eye shadow you were telling me about!"

She then dragged Ella away, presumably to re-do her makeup, but I half suspect it was partly to escape from Gazzy as well.

Which brings me to Gazzy, otherwise known as "The Gasman", Zephyr White. Yeah I know - _Zephyr_? Definitely a rich posh-kid thing. But which I assure you Gazzy was the complete opposite of. For one, he released truly noxious, um, natural gas bombs which I swear were smelt exactly like the stink bomb Iggy set off on me, only more concentrated. When I mentioned this to Iggy, he cackled maniacally like the insane pyro he was.

"Yeah, well, like no freakin' duh! Max, Gazzy here is the origin of all my stink bombs. I take the stink straight from the source! You know the milking thing they do to get the venom from snakes? Well, it's something like that with Gazzy. Gazzy's my accomplice in crime. He releases his, um, gas episodes into test tubes for me, which I channel into all my stink bombs."

Ugh, did that mean that this morning, I was just sprayed with – okay, gross, not going to think about it. Instead, I dug into the school lunch, which was amazingly good. The waitress-who-likes-Lissa-but-hates-me-because-I'm-prettier-than-Lissa-right-right-guys thing Nudge was talking about earlier? Being a posh school, Avon students sat in table of 5-6, and lunch was like in a gourmet restaurant, complete with menus and the waitresses, not to mention supremely delectable chow.

"So, where's Fang?" Gazzy asked Nudge, when she finally returned. Nudge shrugged, too absorbed with fixing her hair to say anything, something which I was very glad for.

"Who's Fang?" I asked, curious, both about his name, as well as the affectionate looks that the others got in their eyes at the mention of him.

"Last member of our little group – Fang, Fang's little sister, Angel, Gazzy, myself, Nudge, and – and yeah. Just… just the - the five of us. We call ourselves the 'Flock', and we have a flock shake and flock signals and everything! We were planning to enter the annual music fest as a band, then she- oh, um Fang's a little silent, but a really great guy. Plays, or used to play, a mean electric guitar."

"Planning to? Music Fest? Used to play…?" I wondered out loud. That aside, I was quite excited to meet this 'Fang', if the rest of his 'Flock' was any indication of the kind of person he was.

"Anyway, Fang isn't coming? Aww dang, I was hoping that we could finally be a complete table again today, we haven't had that since –" Iggy interrupted, then trailed off, a sad, faraway look on his face. Everyone else at the table fell silent, eyes downcast. Ella and I exchanged confused looks.

Suddenly, a hard fist slammed the table, wood actually splintering beneath the olive-toned fist.

"Why. Is. She. _Here_!" yelled a deep, menacing, yet darkly thrilling voice.

I did not just think that.

"F-Fang?" muttered Nudge, a little guiltily.

I looked up to see murderous oreo eyes glaring at me, swiftly turning to cold, black stones which, despite myself, gave me chills.

Ultimate self-centered prick and male chauvinist ignorer Oreo Eye Dude was the 'really great' Fang?

Oh_, hot damn_. Just when I was really beginning to like the 'Flock', something like this happens. Great.

"Get the hell away from me, Blondie," Fang coldly, slowly stated, his black stone eyes burning with an impossibly cold fire, of anger – and was that hurt?

And, for what could possibly be one of the first times in my life, I got up from the table, and walked away from someone who insulted me like that.

**A/N: OH SHIZZ WILL YOU LOOK AT THAT - I've gone and made you guys hate me more! xD But don't worry, FAX /will/ come. I think the buildup before the relationship actually makes it more meaningful afterward. And Fang does have His Reasons for acting like a total jerk even though you and I both know he's going to hate himself for treating Max like this in the future. MUAHAHAHA TAKE THAT FANG.**

**To the reviewers who think the antagonistic Max/Fang thing is a plot gap, IT SHALL BE FILLED. :DD If you can't stand to read a leeeetle bit more bitterness on the part of Fang, maybe this isn't the FF for you. )): Try some others that I've favourited!**

**Whoo I've discovered a new, SPIFFINAWESOME Inu/Kag fanfic! Must remember to like it and share it with you guys. (:**

**Ohmehgee I just realised how short my chapters truly are. Will try to remedy that! But sometimes, a chapter's gotta break when a chapter's gotta break. No? (:**

**- kim, out.**


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